


drench yourself in words unspoken

by QueenWithABeeThrone



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Gen, Gender Neutral Pronouns, Mollymauk Lives Fest, POV Outsider, Tattoos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-01
Updated: 2018-09-01
Packaged: 2019-07-05 08:36:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15860064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenWithABeeThrone/pseuds/QueenWithABeeThrone
Summary: The tiefling rests their elbows on the counter, and says, "You're Alayne Stentford? The town tattooist? I've heard plenty of praise for your work, Miss Stentford, and I'd like to ask if you'd do me the favor of turning me into your canvas for an hour or so."or: Molly gets a new tattoo.





	drench yourself in words unspoken

**Author's Note:**

> title is from Natasha Bedingfield's "Unwritten".

Alayne's reading a book when the tiefling comes in.

It's a nice book, about firbolg tattooists and their art, and Alayne's so hooked on every word that it takes a moment for her to realize that someone's ringing the bell at the counter. Once she does, she curses, slides her bookmark in, and bursts through the beaded curtains with an, " _Ow_ I should really get that frame lowered—Oh my _gods_ I am _so sorry_ , I was just reading something very good and I lost track of—um. Hi?"

"No worries," says the customer, a purple tiefling with a peacock tattoo curling up over the side of their face. They grin at her, bright and charming. "I know a friend of mine who has the same problem." They rest their elbows on the counter, and say, "You're Alayne Stentford? The town tattooist? I've heard plenty of praise for your work, Miss Stentford, and I'd like to ask if you'd do me the favor of turning me into your canvas for an hour or so."

Alayne stares at them, at the tattoos they're already sporting, above and under their ostentatious coat. She can see a red-eyed snake on their hand, and when they move she can see floral tattoos under their half-open shirt. A lot of scars, too, but the biggest one is a pitted, dark wound in the center of their chest. She wonders how they survived that. She wonders _if_ they survived that. She decides to stow that question away for later, when they can't get away from her. "Oh, certainly," she says, straightening up and tying her hair up. "That'll be, um. Actually the prices depend on how long the piece will take, and the size of it, so, uh—"

A bag of coins drops onto the counter, jingling faintly. "Fifty gold and ten platinum," says the tiefling, and that's enough to get Alayne's jaw to drop. "My friends and I have been doing some very brisk business, lately. I figured I'd treat myself. Is that more than enough?"

Alayne is—faintly aware, maybe, that she's staring at them. Fifty gold and ten platinum? She could pay rent for _months_ off that money. She could fix her bed and her doorframe with that money. She could take a trip to Zadash and buy that sequel to Tusk Love she's been _dying_ to read for that money! She shuts her mouth, and nods, not quite trusting herself to babble wildly at the tiefling.

"Great!" says the tiefling, slipping a folded piece of paper out of their pocket. "I asked my friend to draw me something for my next tattoo, and I think this might work out quite nicely." They slide it over to her, and she unfolds it, finds herself staring down at an incredibly beautiful piece: a bouquet of snapdragons, lilies, sprigs of lavender, roses, sunflowers and daisies, all in the shape of a heart wreathed in gold. An albatross flies just above it, which is a strange bird to add to a tattoo—usually only sailors ask for that, and this far inland, she doesn't get a lot of sailors. This tiefling doesn't look like one. Too flashy.

It's also a very complicated piece of work.

"Where do you want this?" she asks.

The tiefling lets out a breath, then taps the center of their chest, where the wound is. "I, ah, had a very close encounter lately," they say. "Very messy, could easily rank up there as the worst day of my life. So I thought—why not turn it into something else? I made it through that day. Sort of." They smile a little, like it's a private joke only they and their friends can understand, but Alayne's met adventurers before. Scars like that, no one tends to make it through alive. "I wanted to turn it into a reminder that I _made it_ , despite some people's best efforts. What do you think?"

"I can't promise that it'll be an exact copy of what your friend drew," says Alayne. "But I can do my best to at least cleave closely to what you want. Is that okay with you?"

"Of course," they say.

"All right, then," says Alayne, pushing the beaded curtain aside. "If you'll come this way, ah—"

"Mollymauk," says the tiefling, and in a flash, she understands the albatross: a bird of luck, flying free above the sea. "But call me Molly."


End file.
